


Red Roses And Fairytales

by yumimum



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumimum/pseuds/yumimum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What good was a Time Lord without his sense of reason? His self-preservation? His rules? Rose couldn’t know how she affected him. How his every waking moment was a constant battle between hearts and mind. But how could he ever hope to win, when such a huge part of him wanted to fail?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Bad Wolf._

Two words haunting them throughout time and space. Seven letters easily dismissed as a random quirk of fate—a seemingly chance repetition in the day-to-day craziness of this mad life she’d come to adore. But was there more to it than simple coincidence? A cosmic joke at their expense, that was yet to deliver the final punch line? She’d always been a believer in gut instinct—why else would she have trusted a complete stranger enough to walk—well, _run_ from her life without so much as a backwards glance or thought for those she was leaving behind? Nevertheless as the days wore on, and her mood darkened accordingly, Rose couldn’t help but wonder if this time her sixth sense was nothing more than a convenient distraction for a mind unable to face the truth.

Of all the men in the world—no, the _universe_ , she just had to go and fall for an oblivious alien who wouldn’t know a green light if it waved a banana in his face. Bloody hell, she sure knew how to pick ‘em. Talk about _never gonna happen._ The last of the Time Lord’s and a former shop girl, with no job, no A-Levels, and only a bronze gymnastics medal to her name? No chance. The Doctor didn’t _do_ domestic; he’d made that _perfectly_ clear, and yet despite his protestations, the presence of their brash and incorrigible new friend had him acting like any other jealous bloke from down the pub.

King of mixed signals, that one—no wonder she was clutching at straws. It was either that or _combust_ from sexual frustration. Blimey, if she’d thought the testosterone display in Van Statten’s office had been something to write home about, it was nothing compared to the moment Jack stepped through the TARDIS doors. Granted, it wasn’t the first time she’d seen glimpses of the Doctor’s jealous streak, but never had he been that bold, that possessive. In one brazen act he’d staked his claim upon her, and the myriad emotions in that covetous gaze had set Rose’s heart to racing as Jack disappeared in search of a room, and together, she and the Doctor danced long into the night.

Safe within the circle of his arms it’d been so easy to believe that things were about to change, that _finally,_ they were ready to embark on an adventure like no other before. Never had she seen the Doctor so relaxed and carefree as when he’d dipped and twirled her around the console room, his grin widening as her giggles escalated into full-blown laughter. Perhaps it was those lingering doubts from inside the hospital basement that gave her the courage to act, but bravely she’d slipped her hand up to rest at his neck, her fingers brushing teasingly against his double pulse beat. Barely breathing, she’d licked her lips and watched the Doctor’s jaw tighten as she raised up on tiptoes, closed the gap between them, and—

—damn near fallen on her face as he’d backed away in a blur of motion and whispered apologies.

Since that humiliating encounter, the delicate balance had shifted between them. Invisible barriers and awkward silences now filled the gap, where once had existed an extraordinary bond of trust and friendship. A hand to hold was quickly becoming a thing of the past and the Doctor—when he wasn’t avoiding her completely—was more impatient and ruder than ever.

Well fine. Sod it. Nobody could say Rose Tyler couldn’t take a hint. Judging by the signs she must’ve got it wrong. Clearly all the Doctor felt was a responsibility to keep her safe—a yearning to re-experience the wonders of the universe through a fresh pair of eyes, and nothing more. That tough exterior of his was more rigid than the TARDIS itself, and if the assorted hordes of Genghis Khan couldn't make a dent on that door, then what hope did a nineteen year old ape from the Powell Estate have of breaking through his stalwart defences?

All’s well that ends well, or so her Gran used to say, and mercifully their recent trip to Cardiff had felt more like the good old days. There was nothing like a little near-death experience to put things in perspective, and Rose knew that given time the tension between herself and the Doctor would ease. Evidently _time_ was one thing the _Time Lord_ had in abundance, and if she had to settle for being his best mate, his companion, his _plus one,_ then so be it. When all was said and done, the title didn’t matter as long as they were together. He was her Doctor. She was his Rose. And despite the potential for a broken heart, she would be grateful for whatever part of himself he was willing—or more likely _able_ —to give.

The rest could go hang.

Disheartened, Rose continued to weave her way through the unending racks of outlandish outfits in the TARDIS wardrobe room, hoping against hope that inspiration would eventually strike. Fixating on improbable bad omens wasn’t going to help her now, and worrying about the state of her non-existent love life was just too bloody depressing for words. She was a _Tyler_ for crying out loud, and if Rose had learnt anything from her mother’s string of disastrous relationships it was that Tyler women _never_ moped around after some bloke—especially when there was a party to be had.

Not that she was really in a partying mood, but one overdue phone call and a thirty minute guilt trip later, and Rose had found herself agreeing to make an appearance at one of her mother’s notorious Halloween parties. Mickey would probably be there. Trisha Delaney too. She supposed she should feel awkward about that, but despite her knee-jerk reaction in Cardiff, deep down Rose knew her commitment to that relationship had always been casual at best. Even if the pig-headed object of her affections hadn’t gone and blown up her job, Rose couldn’t picture herself tied to a council flat kitchen sink for the rest of her days. She wanted more— _needed_ more—and unfortunately there was only one man who could give it to her.

Still, she was going to drive herself nuts at this rate. And after everything she’d put up with from that loser Jimmy Stone she’d vowed never again to let another man mess with her head. Human or otherwise. It would do her good to put some space between them. Get out on her own for the night. Clear her thoughts. She could have a few drinks; laugh with her mates over the estate gossip. Sure, she’d probably spend half the evening fending off those convinced she and the Doctor were at it like rabbits, but hey, that was nothing new. Everywhere they went, people assumed they were a couple. Rose had spent so long telling people they weren’t like _that;_ at least now those niggling doubts and _what ifs_ would be banished from her own mind too.

Defeated, Rose slumped down into an overstuffed leather armchair and sent a silent plea to the TARDIS for help finding a suitable costume. It was moments like these that Jack’s presence aboard the ship was normally a god send, but this time, she was on her own. For the past two days he’d done nothing but lament his enforced celibacy since joining the crew, and since both she and the Doctor had refused to lend a helping hand in _that department,_ had requested a detour to Artillis Prime on route to the flats. His excuse was a flimsy one, but their designated driver had been more than happy to oblige, and so with a little jiggery pokey—and enough Artillian credits to keep the hyper-vodkas flowing—the Doctor had dropped him off at the best pleasure planet this side of the Horsehead Nebula.

Hence her current predicament.

Frustrated, confused, and now deserted by her own personal style guru, was it too much to ask for a little female solidarity in the clothes department? _Apparently not._ For just then a warm orange glow flooded a darkened corner of the expansive room, highlighting an outfit that immediately lifted Rose’s spirits. Clearly the TARDIS had a sense of humour, and rising to her feet she headed towards the hanging rail, a devilish smirk curling her lips as she discarded her jeans and t-shirt in a disorderly pile on the floor. Clad in just her underwear Rose sent a silent prayer to whoever invented the hidden zipper, then, giggling like a schoolgirl, she slipped into the proffered costume and checked out her appearance in the floor length mirror.

God, Jack would have a field day if he could see her now. All things considered the outfit was rather _tame_ by estate standards. The thigh length velvet dress was a rich scarlet colour, accented boldly by a black bodice and cream laces that ran the entire length of the figure-hugging top. White puffy sleeves and a matching crinoline petticoat lent a certain chaste quality to the look, but any pretence of innocence was blown out of the water by the fishnet stockings and shiny stilettos the TARDIS had so thoughtfully provided.

Rose grinned as she reapplied her make-up and styled her hair into two braided pigtails, then, thinking twice about the choice of footwear, she kicked off the shoes and slipped into her trusty trainers instead. Rose Tyler was no fool. Wherever the Doctor went trouble was sure to follow, and no way was she going to suffer the indignity of falling on her arse trying to outrun a mass of rampaging _something-or-others_ in five inch heels.

Again.

Once was more than enough thank you very much, and ever since the incident on Deltair-9, where she’d ended up practically hopping from a platoon of guards, Rose had learnt to sacrifice a few extra inches in lieu of sprained ankles and broken bones.

The TARDIS had materialised in its usual spot by the garages, and if she didn’t get a move on her mother would soon be pounding on the door. She couldn’t be bothered with that scene right now, and so with one last appraising glance, she shrugged into an oversized brown woollen coat, grabbed her cape and wicker basket, and flounced down the corridor. With any luck the Doctor would be elsewhere, stubbornly entrenched in the bowels of the TARDIS. There’d been enough awkward moments in the console room lately to last her a lifetime, and tonight was about new beginnings, drawing a line, moving forwards.

Tonight was about having fun, and Rose Tyler was ready to play.

 

 

“Oi! What was that for?”

The Doctor—gingerly nursing two singed fingers—glared at the plume of smoke and sparks billowing out from his currently less-than-magnificent Time Ship’s centre console. Blon’s extrapolator had caused untold damage to the Rectifier, and the TARDIS’s short range guidance system was _unpredictable_ to say the least. It really wouldn’t do to give his passengers any more reason to doubt his driving skills, and so, fire extinguisher on standby, the Doctor let loose a string of muttered curses as he programmed the sonic to take a quick scan of the readouts.

He should have been done with this task ages ago—might’ve been too if he hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes uselessly fumbling with the same three wires, his mind wandering helplessly to thoughts of his distracting young companion. Perhaps it was pure happenstance, nothing more than dumb luck, but from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on her—saved her life in some department store basement—the Doctor had known she was special. Time Lord, him. Impossible to miss something like that. It’d been too long since he’d met someone who challenged him. Someone who questioned his decisions and made him take a long, hard look at the person he was fast becoming.

Someone who took his hand and ran towards danger, when any other sane person would leg it the other way.

She was his best friend. Resourceful. Brave. Compassionate. Capable of pushing through his defences, and oftentimes pulling him back from the brink of insanity itself. Watching her eyes light up at the marvels of days gone by and worlds yet to be discovered, brought a strange catharsis to his weary soul—her mere presence enough to make the guilt and emptiness inside his head almost bearable. He was the last of his kind—loneliness was his penance—yet one way or another Rose Tyler broke through his self-enforced exile, showing him time and time again that this life was indeed better with two.

Except now it was three.

With the arrival of Jack Harkness—defrocked Captain, accomplished con artist, and latest pain-in-the-arse pretty boy to turn Rose’s head—the Doctor had been forced to re-evaluate his relationship with the woman he—what? Admired? Respected? Cared about?

With so many years, and infinite languages at his disposal, why was it so difficult to make sense of the endless turmoil clouding his hearts and mind? Time Lords claimed to be above the primitive emotions of lesser life forms, such base ideas as selfishness and greed long since loomed out of Gallifreyan society. Yet somehow, this one particular human was capable of awakening such thoughts and desires that the Doctor, who’d never gone much for conformity in the first place, was rendered helpless in the face of such potent longing.

Side by side, it was them against the universe. And yes, he’d known jealousy in his past—or a close approximation at least—but the all-consuming rage that burned throughout his veins whenever that 51st Century playboy so much as looked at her, was a disgrace to the memory of his people. And the way she looked at _him_ —all flirtatious giggles and sharing that smile, that tongue-between-teeth grin that was _his_ and _his_ alone was enough to make his jaw clench, his hands tremble. It stole the breath from his lungs, and caused a bitter ache to roil in his stomach.

Clearly the word _subtle_ was not a part of Jack’s vocabulary, and the constant innuendo bandied around the console room was taking its toll on the Doctor’s self-restraint. How in Omega’s name had it come to this? His greatest enemies knew him as the Oncoming Storm, the Bringer of Darkness, and yet here he was—the last Lord of Time—his life reduced to a plotline from one of Jackie Tyler’s tedious soap operas. He’d had companions before. Lots of them. But what was it about this one girl that made his frontal lobe turn to mush? What good was a Time Lord without his sense of reason? His self-preservation? His _rules?_

To make matters worse, and galling as it was to admit, the Doctor knew that Jack was useful to have on board. An extra pair of hands and a technical mind were always good in a crisis, and, thanks to the Time War, the TARDIS was in dire need of a tune up and service. The Doctor would bet his last Arcadian dollar that his ship wasn’t the only thing the rogue agent intended on _servicing,_ but for as long as Jack kept his hands to himself, he was willing to ignore the rampant urge to blast the cocky git out of an airlock.

Mostly.

Time Lords were once the pinnacle of civilised society, to stoop to so crude an emotion as desire, or worse, _lust,_ was unspeakable. Nonetheless the sensation of holding Rose in his arms as they’d danced around the console room— the look in her eyes, the smile on those pouty lips, the way she’d melted into him as if she belonged there… as if she always would, would stay with him for the rest of his days. She was captivating. No other word for it. The turn of the earth, the ground spinning beneath his feet, paled in comparison to the terrifying free-fall of losing himself in her eyes. Without even trying she’d made him want to do things so unutterably _human_ that he’d panicked, pushing her away before he could embarrass himself like some lecherous old man.

Rose Tyler was too young, too innocent, and coward that he was he’d sent her away before he could damage her further. Later, standing outside her bedroom door, his forehead resting against the knotted wood, the Doctor had cursed his _own_ latent humanity as each hitched breath and stifled sob caused a corresponding tug within his breaking hearts. He’d told her once that her wish was his command, and in that moment he’d wanted nothing more than to go to her, take her in his arms and—

Right. Moving on.

All he wanted was to keep her safe, protect her from danger—from _himself_ if needs be. It was inevitable that she’d leave him one day, either by choice or—no, damn it. He couldn’t even think about the _other_ alternative. If he wasn’t so bloody selfish in this body he’d have taken her home long ago—dropped her back to her mum, her chips, and her idiot boyfriend.

Though if recent events were anything to go by, _that_ relationship had hit the rocks in Cardiff.

He had no right to feel satisfied by that. What justification did he have to feel betrayed when it was _he_ who’d driven her away in the first place? He’d known exactly what the lad had in mind as they’d strolled off into the night, and he deserved every ounce of pain he felt as he watched Rose leave him behind—

A persistent beeping from the monitor screen pulled the Doctor from his maudlin train of thoughts, and in a pique of frustration he hauled up a section of grating, intending to work on the drive system instead. He’d been meaning to give those transducer cells a wipe down for a century or two, and now seemed as good a time as any. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and the gaping silence caused by both his companions’ absence was bothering him more than he cared to admit.

He was the one who’d instigated this distance between them, and apart from a few slip ups—well, to be fair _Raxacoricofallipatorius_ was a tongue-twister in any language, and _technically_ it was Rose who’d hugged him first, so—Never mind. Beside the point. The fact was he’d become very good at staying detached, disassociating himself from the air of overfamiliarity that pervaded their relationship. Nonetheless, he’d grown used to Rose being there while he worked, whether she was handing him tools or merely curled up on the jump seat, wittering on about some trashy magazine she’d picked up on her last visit home. Now, however, with only the constant hum of his ship for company, the Doctor couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d pushed her too far.

Rose had shuffled into the console room earlier that morning, her mobile in one hand, cup of tea in the other, and mentioned something about paying a visit to her mum. At the time both Jack and himself had been elbows deep in wires and conduits and a grunted response was the best he could manage. Shameful as it was to admit, Rose had borne the brunt of his frustrations for far too long, and with Jack off doing god-knows-what this time alone would be the perfect opportunity to make it up to her. The two of them in the TARDIS, as it should be. A mini holiday of sorts. He’d take her someplace new, someplace fun. Somewhere that’d put that radiant smile back on her face.

Barcelona! Dogs with no noses. How could she resist an offer like that?

Oh, but he was a fool in this regeneration. What was he thinking, hoping that Rose would want to tie herself to a broken down old wreck like him? There were men out there who could give her a normal life—a home, a family, a _future._ Sure, they wouldn’t have the whole of Time and Space at their disposal, but at least they would deserve her.

Because he most certainly did not.

There was too much blood on this soldier’s hands. Too many screams echoing inside his head. The Doctor knew that if he let the last of his barriers fall—allowed himself to be open to her in every possible way, then the ever-present darkness of his soul would extinguish the bright light of her being. No. The cost of indulgence was too heavy a price to pay. There was enough destruction on his conscience already, and he couldn’t run the risk of destroying her too. No matter how much he—

The steady vibration of approaching footsteps wrenched the Doctor’s attention from his task, earning him a second nasty shock and a bump to the forehead for his trouble. Breathless, he watched from beneath the grating as the source of his distraction entered the room, temptation personified as she crossed over to the jump seat. Unaware of his presence, Rose busied herself with the laces of her trainers, and, as if on auto-pilot, the Doctor silently levered himself up from beneath the TARDIS floor, his eyes widening as he swept his gaze over her revealing outfit.

He must have hit his head harder than he thought. It was either that or all the blood that was currently rushing south of his belt buckle, but feeling decidedly lightheaded, the Doctor steadied himself against the console and hoped his respiratory bypass system kicked in before he did something _completely_ undignified for a Time Lord—such as faint.

Frantically he reminded himself of the lines he’d drawn, the fears he harboured, and those age-old rules that must be obeyed— even if he was the last one left to uphold them. Rose couldn’t know how she affected him. How his every waking moment was a constant battle between hearts and mind. But how could he ever hope to win, when such a huge part of him _wanted_ to fail?

He was the sinner, she, his salvation, and as he stood there bathed in the glow of the Time Rotor, transfixed by the epitome of all he ever wanted, the Doctor finally realised something that his addled brain had seen fit to ignore. Denial wasn't just a river in Egypt —the country or the planet—and this wasn’t about right or wrong. Desire or defiance. It didn’t matter that she was too young, and he was too jaded. This was about two people who by all rights should’ve been dead, finding each other, saving each other, beating the odds.

This was about them.

His Rose—his Little Red Riding Hood—and the Big Bad Time Lord who wanted nothing more than to gobble her up.

Rassilon.

He didn’t stand a chance.


	2. Chapter 2

“Going somewhere?”

Lost in her thoughts, Rose jumped and spun towards the unexpected voice. “Yeah,” she replied, one hand hovering above her heart. “Thought I’d pop down the Tesco. We’re low on milk.” Grinning, she arched a brow and gave him that look he was certain she’d learned from him—that look that said ‘ _you’ve just dribbled down your shirt._ ’ “Mum’s Halloween party. ’S why we’re here, remember?”

“Dressed like that?”

“There something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Folding his arms the Doctor bit back a groan. “What’s all this then?” he asked, eye-balling the red cape and picnic basket suspiciously. “Bit old for trick or treating aren’t cha?”

“It’s a _costume_ party,” Rose said, smoothing her hand down the flimsy excuse for a skirt. “Dressing up‘s part of the fun.” Feeling daring, she pivoted on the spot, and, with her tongue very much in cheek, she waggled her eyebrows at the stunned Time Lord. “Why? Don’t ‘cha like it?”

Shaking his head, the Doctor hunched down into his leather jacket. “You apes have a funny idea of fun,” he muttered, willing his body under control before Rose noticed first-hand the growing evidence of his _appreciation._

“This coming from the man who thinks Stephen Hawking is a comedy genius?”

“Have you even _read_ his Universe theory?” The Doctor protested vehemently. “Hilarious, that. Nearly bust a rib from laughing so much. Remind me never to read it on Terranus, though. No sense of humour them lot. Strict Anti-laughter laws. Now,” he said, circling the console. “If you want fun, Rose Tyler, I can show you _fun_. How does 1884 sound?”

Rose smirked. “‘S it anything like the Isle of Wight?”

“Sort of, yeah. June 13th 1884. Coney Island. New York. The grand opening of your planet’s first rollercoaster.” His eyes skimmed over her outfit in a lazy sweep, and Rose ducked her head in an attempt to hide the blush on her cheeks. “No. Better yet,” he continued. “Arvon-5. Birthplace of the Grimm brothers. You’ll fit right in. Won’t even have to change.”

“Grimm brothers?” Rose’s eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What, _the_ Grimm brothers? You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.” The Doctor rubbed his hands together in glee. “An entire civilisation dedicated to the creation of children’s stories. That dress is practically native. Pretty fantastic, eh?”

It was. It really, _really_ was. But with her mother’s voice still resounding in her head, Rose could only smile apologetically as she glanced towards the door. “I can’t, I… Mum’s expecting me... I promised her I’d show.”

“Right. Course.”

“’S jus’—well it’s been a while, you know? And Halloween’s kind of a big deal for her.”

“It’s fine, Rose.” The Doctor shrugged. “Really. Run along to your ghosts and goblins.”

“Maybe after, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The Doctor’s mood sobered as his barriers flew up, holding back the fearsome tide of rejection that surged within him. He supposed it was a testament to her growing confidence that Rose was able to refuse his shameless diversion. A few months ago she’d have dropped everything and come running. But not any longer it seemed. Still, there was some comfort to be had in Rose’s obvious reluctance to leave his side, and the Doctor chastised himself for rejoicing in that small victory. He should be encouraging her to go out and shine, not dragging her down into the shadows with him.

_“So,”_ she said, shifting nervously by the door. “Guess I’ll be off then.”

“Right.”

“And you’ll still be here when I get back? Not gonna—I dunno, plant a banana grove, or start a riot without me?”

Crossing over to the monitor, the Doctor began flicking random switches. “Nah, not this time, Barbarella. Kitchen’s full, and we started a revolution on Thaltos last week. Wouldn’t want to get repetitive, would I? Where’s the fun in that?” Schooling his features the Doctor raised his head. “There’s a list of repairs longer than a Slitheen’s arm needs doing round here. Should keep me outta trouble for a bit.”

“You’re sure?”

“Course.” He beamed. “Go. Enjoy yourself.”

The Doctor’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Rose bit her lip as she followed his every move around the console. “You could always come too, y’know?”

“Don’t have a costume, me.”

“Don’t really need one,” she replied, taking a cautious step forward. “If last year’s anything to go by, Mum’ll be knocking’ back the cocktails. Trust me, she’ll have enough trouble remembering’ her _own_ name to even care ‘bout what you’re wearing.”

The Doctor shuddered. He’d heard the tales of Jackie Tyler’s Rocky Horror party, and the thought of Rose’s mother in PVC hot pants was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat. Still, could’ve been worse. At least she didn’t suggest _U-Boat captain…_

“No, thanks,” he said brightly—too brightly—his eyes trained on the view screen, “seen enough real monsters in my lifetime, don’t need to go looking for the fake ones too.”

“Right.” A beat. “Don’t wait up then.”

Bowing her head Rose proceeded to button up the coat, but the stiffness of her body belied her casual words. Even now he was hurting her. His selfish greed and unwillingness to share—even with the girl’s own _mother_ was driving a wedge between them. Rose deserved better than to be saddled with the likes of him. Deserved to be out with her friends and family—to spend the night happy and—

_…dancing_

“Rickey going to be there?”

“I dunno. Probably.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“’S none of my business is it?” she said, eyeing him warily. “Me and Mickey are over. Thought you knew that.”

He did, but clearly his jealousy knew no bounds.

“Didn’t look that way to me.” he muttered, feigning interest in a loose dial.

“And what’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

“Well obviously it does if you’re acting like a complete pr—”

_“Rose…”_

The unspoken warning went unheeded as she advanced towards him. “I’m serious. You’ve been acting weird for weeks now. Ever since we—ever since London. So what’s going on? Why d’you keep pushing me away?”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Like hell I am!” Rose’s voice was full of accusation, and the spark of defiance in her eyes ignited his own smouldering desire. “You’ve barely spoken to me since Cardiff. Every time I enter the room you make some excuse to leave. It’s like you can’t get away from me quick enough.”

A melodic warning chimed within his head, and if he didn’t know better he’d swear his ship was laughing at him. Great. _Fantastic._ Outnumbered by two temperamental females, the Doctor braced himself as a heavy sigh passed Rose’s lips, and just like that, he witnessed the fight drain out of her.

“Look. I’m sorry, okay. I don’t mean to sound like some nagging… _whatever._ It’s just…” Rose shrugged. “I miss you.”

“Quick enough to replace me though, weren’t you.”

“I could never re—Oh my god, are you _jealous?”_

“Course not.”

“Yeah, right. Pull the other one.”

Adamant, the Time Lord folded his arms and stared her down. “Rose, if you wanna date idiots or pick up strays, that’s entirely up to you. Just don’t come crying to me when they let you down, alright?”

_“Alright!”_ The Doctor huffed and his companion stared at him in disbelief. “You know, not that it’s any of your business, but the _only_ reason I wanted to see Mickey was to end it. Properly this time.”

“Didn’t stop you swanning off with him, did it?”

“I didn’t swan off, I—bloody hell, we had a fight, okay? He accused me of choosing you over him, said I always do.” Feeling awkward, Rose huddled into the comfort of the coat. “He said… he said I made him feel like nothing. Like he was my standby or something. And that’s just stupid ‘cause you an’ me aren’t… And it hurts, yeah, but the thing is he’s right. And d’you know the worst part? I’d do it all over again too. How selfish is that? What sort of person does that make me?”

The Doctor couldn’t fight the tender smile on his lips. “Always knew you were a crazy woman, Rose Tyler.”

“I must be to put up with you.”

“Oi!”

For a few blessed seconds Rose’s laughter filled the air between them, but then her smile faded as she stepped forward, refusing to let him look away. “I don’t want Mickey,” she said, the truth blazing in her eyes.

“No?”

“No.” Rose’s tongue swept over her bottom lip. “Don’t want Jack either.”

With an inelegant snort the Doctor rolled his eyes and turned on his heal, strolling several paces across the room. “Rose, I’m nine hundred years old but ’m not blind.”

“And what’s that s’posed to mean?”

“It means I’ve seen how you act with him.”

“How I—Oh my god.” Rose planted her hands on her hips. “Sometimes I forget you can be such a—”

“What?”

_“Alien,”_ she said, gently reaching out to touch his arm. The leather jacket was cool beneath her fingers, but Rose could feel the tension held within his rigid frame as she urged him to face her. “It’s just flirting. It doesn’t mean anything. Come on, you know what Jack’s like.”

The Doctor grunted. “Believe me. I know _exactly_ what Jack’s like, and I trust him ‘bout as far as I can throw him.”

“Liar.” Rose smiled knowingly. “If you didn’t trust him, you’d never let him onboard the TARDIS so don’t try that one with me. And anyway, Jack knows I'm not interested in him, not like _that._ Seriously, the man tries it on with anything that moves. I’m amazed he hasn’t hit on you too.”

“Who says he hasn’t?”

Rose balked. “You’re serious?”

“Told you he was _flexible._ ” The Doctor searched her eyes, and his own internal struggles were plain to see. “You really don’t want Jack?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Ah.”

Rose’s tongue went to the corner of her mouth as the Doctor hung his head, suddenly finding his boots to be the most fascinating sight in the known universe. “What’s the matter?” she said, lightly nudging him with her trainer. “You looking for some concrete to resonate?”

And there it was—the feistiness he’d missed so much. Spellbound, he watched as Rose trailed her palm down the length of his jacketed sleeve, his eyes softening as she laced her fingers with his. “D’you know how long it’s been since you held my hand?” she asked, her lips curling into a wistful smile.

The Doctor could calculate his answer to the nearest micro-second, but somehow he doubted that was what she wanted to hear right now. “Too long?”

“Way, _way_ too long,” Rose agreed, taking a deep breath to steady her nerve. It was now or never. The Doctor was seldom this candid, and if she left it till the morning he’d be too busy rushing off in search of a new adventure—too busy pretending _this_ hadn’t happened—to worry about the questions that lay in his wake. “Why’re you fighting this?” she whispered, anxious of pushing too far, too quickly. “What’re you so afraid of?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the Doctor swallowed, hard. “Losing you,” he replied, reaching for her other hand. “I’ve never feared for my own life. Lived a long time, me… some would say too long. But if anything happened to you I don’t think I could—”

“Hey,” Rose ducked her head, aligning his sight with hers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You say that now—“

“And I’ll say it forever. Told you after Downing Street that I was signing on, and I meant it. You’re stuck with me, okay?”

A half smile curled the Doctor’s lips, but his eyes stared straight through her, still haunted by the infinite possibilities within his mind. “’M dangerous, Rose,” he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “The things I’ve done… the things ’m _capable_ of… you‘ve no idea the darkness that’s buried inside me.”

“You do what you have to do.”

“No—”

“Yes,” Rose replied, silencing him with a look. “You said it yourself, Doctor, this life of yours, it’s not fun and it’s not smart. D’you think I don’t know that by now? D’you think I don’t know the risks? Because I do. And you know what? I’m still here. So the sooner you get it through that thick skull of yours the better, alright?”

She smiled shyly, a pink flush staining her cheeks and the Doctor shook his head as she squeezed his hand in affirmation. “Not that simple, is it?”

“It could be. If you let it.”

“No.”

“You need to forgive yourself.”

“I can’t—”

“Then let me.”

“Rose…” He'd lost everyone and everything he cared about during the war; he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her too. “I destroyed my people. My entire race ended at the push of a button. That’s the sort of man I am, Rose Tyler.” Desperate, his fingers tightened around hers, a lifeline in this maelstrom of emotion. “You should’ve forgotten me when you had the chance.”

_“Right._ And that’s why you said the one thing guaranteed to keep you on my mind, yeah? _Forget me, Rose Tyler._ Like that was ever gonna happen. Oldest pick-up line in the galaxy, that.”

Caught out, the Doctor hung his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what? The mind games? Ignoring me? Actin’ like a prat?”

“You want me to pick one?”

“Yeah, Doctor, narrow it down. I thought things between us were—” trailing off, Rose freed her hands from his grasp. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong? D’ you want me to leave? Is that it?” She looked up at him with pleading eyes, and in that moment the Doctor swore his hearts stopped beating within his chest. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

Rationality disappeared in an instant as the Doctor wrapped his arms around her waist, and hauled her against him. “Does it feel like I don’t want you?” he hissed, almost panting for breath as the hard evidence of his arousal pressed against her hip. Her gasp of surprise only fanned the flames within him, and it was all he could do to keep from taking her right there and then on the rough grating of the console room floor. “Tell me, Rose, does it feel like I want you to go?”

“Then what’s stopping you? What’s holding you back?”

Inescapable, and undeniable, the Doctor’s brain finally caught up with his disobedient body. “What is it you want from me?” he asked, deflecting her question as he pulled away and strode across the room. “What is it that you want to hear?”

“Just talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

“You can’t! This…” he gestured between them. “This can’t—”

“Doctor, _please._ ” Her heart was taken up by the man in front of her—all leather and manic grins. But right now that jacket was just another barricade and his smile was nowhere to be seen. Yes, his eyes raked over her body with barely disguised hunger, but the Doctor’s self-inflicted restraints prevented him from taking that final step into the unknown. “D’you think you’re the only one who’s afraid here?” Rose asked, coming to a halt before him. “’M scared too, y’know.”

“Of what?” he whispered, tipping her chin up to meet his gaze.

“That I‘m going to lose you… that you’re going to take me home.”

“Oh, Rose.” Both hands came up to cradle her cheeks as he noticed the bright sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. “You _are_ home.”

“Doctor—”

“This’ll change everything.”

“I know.” Her voice was sultry and inviting. “I’m counting on it.”

Didn’t she realise there was no happily ever after here? Surely she must know it could only end in misery? Here he was, stood atop a precipice—afraid of disappointing her if he didn't make that final leap of faith, _terrified_ of failing her if he did, and Rassilon help him, he had to make her see sense—had to give her a way out.

“This isn’t a fairytale,” he muttered, breath hitching in his throat. “’M not some prince who’s gonna sweep you off your feet—not with this daft old face anyway.”

Rose smiled. “Too late for that,” she whispered. “You told me once that all that counts is here and now. Well, I’m here. Maybe…” Rose swallowed hard, forcing the words past her lips, “…maybe I can’t give you your forever, but I can give you mine. If you want it?”

_Oh he wanted._

“Rose…” Her name was a prayer as he pulled her to him. “You can spend the rest of your life with me, but I can’t spend mine with you. I don’t age, but you’re human. You’ll wither, and you’ll—”

There was an odd vulnerability in the Doctor’s voice, and Rose silenced him with a kiss on the cheek. “The curse of the Time Lords,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Guilt? Loneliness?”

“Yes.”

“‘S that what you see when you look at me, Doctor? Death? Decay?”

Rose’s breath was warm against his Adams apple, and the resultant shiver almost caused his legs to falter. “No,” he gasped, choked by his own admission. “Not you. I look at you and I see…”

“…what?”

“Life. Such precious, wonderful life.”

“Then why’re we wasting the time I have left?”

In all his remaining incarnations he’d never dared dream of rekindling such emotions as hope or joy, yet in this one incredible human he’d found a source of happiness so sweet that it dazzled him. She was his Achilles heel, and he, a slave to her smiles—willing to risk paradox and death if only to banish the tears from her beautiful face. In the utmost depths of his despair, he’d found a companion he couldn’t live without—a companion he’d die for—and as she gazed up at him, his entire universe captured within her chocolate brown eyes, the Doctor felt the last of his resolve crumble to ashes.

“Oh, Rose,” he whispered, his thumb grazing idly across the apple of her cheek. “Forever starts tonight.” And as his lips brushed hers in a lingering caress, he found he could almost believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor’s lips were cooler than she’d imagined. Firm and persuasive they moved against hers, teasing, encouraging, then growing more demanding as the kiss caught fire. “I didn’t…” Rose gasped, her breath coming in unsteady bursts. “I never thought…”

Just as affected—though determined not to show it—the Doctor marvelled at the woman in his arms. “Never thought what?”

“That you’d actually do it,” she muttered, unable to meet his eyes. “Thought maybe I was imagining things, y’know? Wishful thinking or something.”

The Doctor frowned, drawing her closer. “Wasn’t sure you even saw me as a _man_ , never mind a potential—”

_“Dance_ partner?” Tentatively, Rose’s fingers closed around his belt buckle, and a shudder ran through him as she inched her way beneath his jumper, tickling the sensitive skin of his stomach. “Guess that superior brain of yours ain’t all it’s cracked up to be then, eh, _Time Lord?_ ”

“Minx…” The Doctor groaned at the barest wisp of contact, his hold tightening as his eyes lit up with mischief. “You’ll be the death of me, Rose Tyler. Nine hundred years old, and brought to me knees by one little earth girl. Oh, how the mighty’ve fallen.”

“Now _there’s_ a thought…”

“Behave, you.” His hoarse chuckle set fire to her blood, and Rose moaned as the Doctor grazed his teeth against the delicate arch of her neck, dipping his tongue into the salty hollow at her throat. “This alright?”

“Mmm hmm…” She smiled up at him as he slid the coat from her shoulders. “The universe hasn’t imploded. I think we can risk it.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” His free hand traced a leisurely path down Rose’s arm, teasing the outer curve of her right breast. “For all we know the balance of Time and Space rests on our having a—”

“Don’t you dare!”

After so many months spent dreaming—wishing for the Doctor’s tender touch, it was almost too much to believe it was finally happening, and an urgent need for confirmation surged within her as his fingers gripped her arse, encouraging her legs around his waist as he carried her across the room. _Real._ God, this was real. It had to be. Lungs burning, heart pounding, Rose ran her hands over his close-cropped hair, and the Doctor cursed as his distraction caused him to stumble rather gracelessly against the centre console.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pressing an apologetic kiss to her forehead. “Bit out of practice, me.” Reaching across he flicked a few switches to disable the instrument panel, then, sweeping her into his arms, he moved them to a flatter, more comfortable section. “Better?” he asked.

“Much.”

_“Fantastic.”_

Rose knew she’d never again be able to hear that word without blushing, and cradling her jaw the Doctor smashed his lips against hers, both hands coming up to angle her face as he deepened the kiss. Inevitably the sloped sides of the console caused Rose to slip as she writhed beneath him, and the Doctor lowered himself further, securing her in position with his hips between her thighs.

He wanted to savour this moment, take his time to discover her body, but with each heady gasp and soft moan, the Doctor felt the fragile threads of his self-control fray a little further. The constant pressure of Rose’s sex against his groin triggered his most primitive impulses, and sliding his hands to the back of her neck he pulled back for a moment to catch his breath.

“What is it?” she asked, and the residual fear in her eyes—those lingering doubts that he’d stop this, tore at his hearts. “What’s wrong?”

Now there was a rope with no end. She was a brave one, his Rose, but how could he ever _hope_ to confess his sordid urge to take her—mark her—claim her as his own, without scaring her away for good? Rassilon, what had she done to him? What _could_ she do if he let her?

Shaking his head, the Doctor gave a tender smile, banishing the worrisome thoughts from his mind. “Nothing,” he said. “’S jus’…” His fingers brushed against her braids, and with a playful tug he worked each one free, fanning the hair into a golden halo above his angel’s head. “There. Perfect.”

Breathless in anticipation, Rose pulled him down by the lapels for another heated embrace, his hands gliding behind her as he sought the hidden zip of her dress. “Take it off,” she whispered, and the Doctor chuckled.

“Impatient are we?”

His smug grin earned him a clout to the shoulder, and Rose whimpered as his cool fingers strummed down her bare back, his touch leaving goose bumps in its wake. “Think we’ve both waited long enough, don’t you?”

“Too bloody right.” Determined, the Doctor’s hands journeyed to Rose’s hips, however his plan was thwarted as a piercing trill resounded throughout the console room, and the object of his affections twisted away from his kiss, instinctively seeking out her phone. “Ignore it,” he muttered, nipping at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

“But my mum’s—“

“—not here,” he replied, fishing the offending mobile from her dress pocket. “And trust me; I intend to keep it that way. If Jackie Tyler knew what I was planning to do to her daughter, she’d be dragging me ‘round by the—”

“—ears?” Rose’s thumbs skimmed over the aforementioned body parts. “Please don’t tell me the Oncoming Storm is afraid of my _mother._ ”

The Doctor shuddered. “I’ve met some strange aliens in my time, but I tell ya, your mum’s the most fearsome of the lot.”

“Oi!” So, okay, her admonishment might’ve had more impact _without_ the bark of laughter but still…. “You’re asking for a smack, you.”

Smirking, the Doctor’s eyes raked over her body, and Rose shivered under the intensity of his gaze. “You have _no_ idea.” His jacket hit the floor with a dull thud, a sigh of relief passing his lips as the persistent melody came to a halt. “Forget about it, Little Red,” he said, turning the device off and tossing it aside. “We’re not done here.”

Rose swallowed thickly as the promise inherent in his voice left her reeling. “Sounds like you’re getting your fairytales mixed up, Doctor. Red Riding Hood didn’t have the scary mother; it’s the mean old wolf she had to worry ‘bout.”

“You reckon so, huh?” The Doctor smiled indulgently as the likelihood of another _Tyler slap_ loomed heavily in his timeline. “Age old tale, that. Truth must’ve got lost in translation.” Ignoring Rose’s glare, he moved to stand between her thighs, his fingers drumming a teasing pattern against the underside of her knees. “You see, that Little Red wasn’t as innocent as you lot’ve been led to believe. Jeopardy friendly type she was. Born adventurer. Always wandering off—getting herself into trouble, you know the sort.”

“Sounds familiar, yeah…”

“And one day she took to exploring the dark, forbidden forest on the outskirts of town. She put on her little red dress, slipped into her little red—” The Doctor frowned, smoothing his palms up her fishnet covered thighs, “…these tights or stockings?”

“…S-stockings,” Rose replied, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

“…grabbed her picnic basket, an’ headed for the door. Her mother, she stopped her and said, ‘Little Red Riding Hood, you watch yerself in them woods, ‘cause if you run into that Big Bad Wolf he’s gonna pull up your little red dress…” the Doctor shifted to align their lower bodies, “…pull down them little red panties, and he’ll shag those little red stockings right off.’ Now, Little Red, she wasn’t worried. Always carried her trusty screwdriver just in—”

_“Screwdriver?”_ Rose burst out incredulously. “C’mon. What d’you take me for?”

The Doctor merely chuckled in response. “Handy thing to have that.”

“Better than a banana I suppose…”

“Oi. Quiet you, I‘m telling this story.” He flashed his trademark grin and stole a quick kiss. “So Little Red, she wanders off along the forest path until she’s met by the village idiot on his way to the pub—there’s a match on.”

_“Uh huh...”_

“And when she tells him where she’s headed, he repeats her mother’s warning. Of course, our brave heroine didn’t listen—liked to run towards danger, that one—and off she went. She travelled down the path a ways, and who should jump out, but the Big Bad Wolf himself. ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ he said, ’you shouldn't be out here all alone, because now, you know what I'm gonna do to ya?’”

The Doctor leaned forward, his own wolfish grin splitting his lips, and Rose could only stare mutely as her chest heaved like a damsel in one of her mother’s Mills and Boon novels. Later, maybe, she’d take the time to be embarrassed about this, but right now she was too turned on to care.

“‘I'm gonna pull up that little red dress,’” the Time Lord whispered, “‘tear down those little red panties… and I'm gonna shag your little red stockings clean off.’ And d’you know what that naughty Little Red did next, Rose?” The Doctor’s breath was hot against her ear, his fingers painting nameless words over the smooth skin of her inner thighs. “She looked up at that Big Bad Wolf, pointed the screwdriver straight at his heart, and said—”

“—I don’t think so, Wolfie. You're gonna eat me, _just like the book says._ ” All things considered, Rose was particularly proud of the stunned expression on his face. “What? Mum dated a rugby player. I heard _that_ one when I was nine.”

_Bloody typical._ The Doctor folded his arms. That Jackie Tyler had a _lot_ to answer for. “‘S that right?”

“Uh huh. Gonna have to do better than that if you wanna impress me.”

“‘S that a challenge?”

_“May_ be. So hows ‘bout it, _old man_? You gonna show me your moves?”

Smirking, the Doctor grasped her waist. “Right then,” he said, hauling her further up the console. “You asked for it, _Tyler_.” Clearly surprised, Rose gasped his name as her hands flew to his forearms, and that, coupled with the rapid acceleration of her heart rate gave him pause. “Is this…?” He trailed off, noticing her flushed cheeks.

“Y- yeah…” she stammered. “‘S jus’ no one’s ever…”

“Good. D’you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then relax,” he said soothingly. “Lie back. Let me take care of you.”

A gentle sigh fell from Rose’s lips as he slid his palms beneath her dress. “You always do,” she whispered, as he gathered the material around her waist, his hands coming to rest over the damp crotch of her knickers.

“So _wet_...”

“Nothing new there, either.”

The Doctor tapped his nose. “I know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His fingers hooked into the waistband. _“Oh.”_ Unhurriedly, he rolled Rose’s underwear down her legs. “Trainers?” he said, quirking an eyebrow when he reached her feet.

“What?” She grinned back at him. “Never know when I’ll have to run, do I?”

The Doctor shook his head as he untied her shoes, tossing them, unwanted, to the floor. “There’ll be no more running tonight, Rose Tyler. For either of us.” Leaning down, he brushed a kiss to her stomach and trailed his fingers up her toned legs, making a mental note to leave a fruit basket at the DuPont nylon factory. “Let’s leave these on for now shall we?”

“Kinky.”

“Nah.” The Doctor’s gaze swept towards her exposed womanhood. “Beautiful.”

“I—”

“Do you taste as sweet as you look, I wonder?” His nostrils flared as he inhaled the musky scent of her arousal, and Rose whimpered at the first cool swipe of his tongue, biting down on her bottom lip to silence her cries. _“No,”_ the Doctor said, grunting his pleasure against her sodden flesh. “Don't hold back, let me hear you.”

“I-I… Oh!” Any remaining embarrassment fled as his thumb settled over her clit. _To hell with modesty,_ thought Rose, judging by the sounds issuing from her throat, she might as well be wearing that ‘Earth girls are easy’ t-shirt Jack picked up on Lupis Mal. “Please...” she begged. “More—I…”

Rubbing her gently, the Doctor’s eyes raked up her writhing body. “Gods, how you’ve tortured me,” he growled, as their gazes finally locked. “You’ve no idea what you do to me, do you?” His large hand settled over her stomach, holding her down as she bucked against him. “Your scent has haunted me, Rose Tyler. Made me want things I shouldn’t… things I…”

Conceding defeat, the Doctor groaned and swept his tongue over her moist folds, one digit slipping inside to caress her hidden centre. “Please,” Rose whispered, unable to fight the instinctive arch of her back. “Doctor, please… I need you.”

He glanced up, lips swollen, wet with her juices. “You’ve got me.”

“Not what I meant,” she moaned as he added a second finger, and then, more cautiously, a third. “My, my, Mr Wolf,” Rose giggled, clawing at the console. “What big _hands_ you have.”

The Doctor chuckled, abandoning her clit as he crawled up her body. “All the better to tease you with, my dear,” he said, using his free hand to drag down the top of her dress.

Soft kisses rained against the pillowy softness of her breasts, and the steady thrust of his fingers held her on the brink of climax, pleading for release. “More…” Rose gasped, trembling hard as he tugged a nipple between his teeth, the lacy material of her bra rasping against the sensitive peak. “Wanna touch you too.”

The Doctor’s wordless cry caused a corresponding tug within her womb, but contrary to her request, Rose mewed in complaint as he pulled away to tear off his jumper, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips at the first sight of his wiry physique. Her fingers itched to run through the sparse hair that disappeared beneath the restrictive denim of his jeans, but before she could act the Doctor moved back into position, trailing a series of butterfly kisses down the length of her body, teasing, learning, memorising.

Curling his arms around Rose’s thighs, the Doctor anchored her to his mouth as he devoured the very heart of her. Days, weeks, years, time lost all meaning as her head lolled back against the console, her cries merging into a symphony he'd only ever dreamed off. Her pleasure built, liquid fire burning through her veins, until finally she was whimpering, moaning, calling out—

“Doctor!” Undone, Rose shuddered violently beneath him, her internal muscles contracting around his fingers as she fell over the edge into oblivion. “…God!”

For several seconds the only sounds in the console room were her harsh, panted breaths, and then—

“Been called that before, yeah.”

“Prat.”

She cracked open her eyes in time to see him prowl up her heaving body, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “Well?” he said, settling beside her.

“Well what?” Rose blinked slowly, forcing down a grin at his expectant expression. Half-covering her, the Doctor propped his head up on his palm, his eyebrows lifting as he made a show of licking his fingers clean. “Alright, fine,” she said, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of his puffy lips, her juices on his chin, his tongue, doing… _that_ … “Maybe you’re a _bit_ impressive.”

“Just a bit?” He frowned. “You want I should prove it again?”

“No!” Rose gasped, grabbing him by the wrist, “Human, here. Let me recover first, yeah?” Smiling, she stared up at him—flushed, dishevelled and all his, but as he reached out to stroke her hair the Doctor noticed the tell-tale glisten of tears in her eyes, and his hearts sank as she shifted closer, her eyes downcast. Humans were victims to their emotions. He knew that, of course he did, but mercurial mood swings were more his department of late, and his Rose had never been prone to—

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” she whispered, so faintly he barely heard her. “I thought—”

“Rose,” he raised her chin, forcing her to see the truth of his words. “I will always want you.” Softly, he brushed his lips over hers. _“Always.”_ Solemn promises in an ancient language drifted across her skin, and Rose’s fingers wandered to the back of his head, her grasp tightening as he moved down to concentrate on her neck, determined to stake his claim on her body. “My precious Rose,” he whispered. “So beautiful—”

“—for a human?”

“—and brave,” he continued, laving his tongue over the developing bruise on her collar-bone. “You're _mine,_ Rose Tyler. Never forget that.”

His companion sighed, a smile tugging at her lips. “Been yours since run. You’ve just been too thick to notice.”

“Cheeky.” The Doctor’s eyes drifted closed as she raked her fingers across his scalp. “So many decisions,” he muttered. “So many _rules_ …”

“Rules?” Rose frowned. “What? Thou shalt not shag thy companion?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Since when have you ever followed the rules?” she asked, and the Doctor shook his head.

“Should’ve broken this one long ago.”

“Then why didn't you?”

“Coward, me.”

“No,” she closed the gap between them and nipped at his bottom lip, effectively drowning out any other thought in his quite frankly magnificent brain. “You’re the bravest person’ve ever met.”

“Not in all things, Rose Tyler. Sometimes I…” The Doctor trailed off, his northern brogue roughened with desire. “Have you ever wanted something so bad, that even when it’s within your grasp, you were afraid to touch it in case…”

“In case, what?” she asked, breath and heart lodged within her throat.

“In case you damage it?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. _Men!_ Bloody hopeless, the lot of ‘em. If the Doctor thought he was gonna run from this now, then a certain Time Lord had another think coming. “Hey,” she said, eyes narrowing into a mock glare. “You saying I should be in a museum or something?”

“Yeah, should tie some velvet rope ‘round you. Keep you safe.”

“Easy, tiger,” Rose’s giggles were swallowed by an impromptu kiss. “Bondage can wait,” she muttered when they finally broke apart for air. “You need to hear this, okay?”

“'M all ears.”

“I noticed.”

“Oi!”

Rose smirked, her tongue peeking out to tease him. “I like the ears.”

“No accounting for taste I suppose…”

“Guess not. Fell in love with you, didn’ I?”

Stunned, the Doctor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Rose…”

“Sshh…” she silenced him with a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to say anything jus’… d’you believe me?”

“If I believe in anything, Rose Tyler, it's you.”

“Good. Remember that, ‘cause you need to get this through that great big Time Lord brain of yours, alright? Forget about those rules, forget about what you’re s’posed to do, and just go with what feels right… what feels good.” Breathing hard, Rose reached out to touch his chest, her palms settling over the duel beat of his hearts. “So what d’you say, Mr Impressive, does this feel good?”

He almost flinched as her hands grazed over his nipples then down to the irrefutable evidence of his desire, held tight within its denim prison. “Always knew you were a smart one, Rose Tyler,” he said, a growl rising in his throat as her fingers moved to his belt, quickly unbuckling it then drawing down his zipper. Beyond his control the Doctor’s head dropped to her shoulder and he just about sobbed in relief as she peeled back his jeans and took him in hand, the sensation of her warm fingers wrapped around his cock almost too much to bear.

“Rose…” Her grip tightened, working him in slow steady strokes, each twist and squeeze bringing him closer to the edge. _“Rose_ , please…”

Turnabout might be fair play, but the power she held—quite literally—in her hands, was addictive. To think that she, a shop girl from a sink-hole London council estate, could reduce a being of such unequivocal self-restraint to whimpering and begging, was beyond her wildest fantasies. _Forget recovering,_ thought Rose, she needed him _now,_ and with a conciliatory kiss to the Time Lord’s lips she released his erection, a soft gasp falling from her mouth at her first unobstructed view of his body.

“Something wrong?” the Doctor asked, glancing down nervously.

“No, ‘s jus’ you’re…”

“What?”

“I dunno… just thought you’d be different, somehow. More—”

The Doctor smirked. “—alien?”

“Shut up!” Red faced, Rose smacked his shoulder. “How was I s’posed to know, huh? You could've been hiding anything in them jeans. Might’ve had tentacles or all sorts.”

Quirking an eyebrow, the Doctor reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Told you, didn’t I. You lot’ve spread all over the galaxy. We’re compatible enough…” He paused, frowning slightly as his eyes betrayed his vulnerability. “You’re not… disappointed, are you?”

Rose hesitated, raising herself to a sitting position. “Are you serious?”

“Never been compared to a human before,” he muttered.

“What happened to so many species, so little time?”

“This isn’t…” Exhaling sharply, the Doctor shook his head. “I don’t do _this_ …” he muttered. “Not with just anybody, and not since…”

“I know,” Rose sobered, wrapping her legs around his waist to tug him closer. “But trust me when I say you have _nothing_ to worry about. I seriously doubt the human race is _ever_ gonna evolve to compete with, well… _that._ ”

“—Rose…”

“—so do us both a favour, yeah. Stop thinking.” She ground against him, urging his jeans further down his hips. “Start _feeling_.”

This was it. Consequences be damned, he would ruin her for any other man; leave her craving _his_ touch for the rest of her pitifully short life. “Please,” she whimpered, arching upwards. “Please, I want—I…”

The Doctor’s breath was shaky and laboured as he grasped Rose’s wrists, pinning them above her head as he poised himself at her entrance. “I know, love. Me too.” A delicious thrill ran through him as her tongue laved over his Adams apple, and all thoughts of gentleness disappeared when her sharp teeth bit down on the corded muscles of his neck, causing him to surge forward, sheathing himself within her scorching body.

_Home._ That one word forced itself through the fog of his desire. He was home. With her, _within_ her, he had found his sanctuary. Their frustrating game of cat and mouse was at an end, and the memory of their first time would burn so brightly that the years could not tarnish it. With absolute certainty the Doctor knew he would carry this moment—this feeling of utter completion, with him throughout eternity, and barely holding on he threw his head back, his eyes slamming shut as Rose clenched around his shaft, keening as she adjusted to his size.

“Keep that up…” he said, voice tight and controlled, “…and this is going to be very…” he pulled out, _“…very…_ ” pushed back in, “…short.” Trembling, his hands fell to her hips, his fingers digging into her bronzed skin with each firm thrust. There would be bruises by morning—mottled marks of possession—but Rose wasn’t complaining and Rassilon help him, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself even if he tried.

Not now.

Not when he finally knew the reality of losing himself within her body.

_But then, perhaps that was only fair,_ the Doctor mused, as he leaned down to suckle at her breast, for she had marked him in turn. Taken a time weary soldier and spread her golden light throughout the recesses of his scarred mind, forever branding him as hers in every possible way. Carroll could keep his six impossible things, that feat was nothing compared to earning the love of one Rose Marion Tyler. He was a jammy git—no doubt about that—but somehow the Doctor had fallen through the looking glass, and now it was down to him to prove his worth.

“Rose, Rose, Rose…” Five billion languages, and none of them good enough to describe how he felt. Words, he knew, were powerful things, capable of destroying worlds and hearts alike. But maybe, just maybe, in the arms of this one incredible woman they could create things too. “Rose,” he groaned again, each plunge into her body a baptism of fire, cleansing his soul as she gasped and moaned. “I need you. All of you.” Hesitant, he reached up and pressed his fingers to her temple, his other hand settling possessively over the curve of her backside. “‘S that alright?”

“More than alright,” Rose whispered. “But I’m not telepathic. How—”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Doctor replied, taking her mouth in a searing kiss. “Just let me in.”

So, so carefully, he brushed against her surface thoughts, tentatively searching for a connection that’d been absent since the demise of his planet. The human mind was a fragile thing and the Doctor held himself back, the reality of baring his soul so raw, so personal, that he was almost tempted to sever their link before he took advantage and overwhelmed her completely.

“Be strong,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ll not see you hurt.”

Cupping her cheek within his palm, the Doctor rested their foreheads together, and instantly Rose became aware of a gentle nudge on the outside of her awareness. “Doctor?” she whispered. “Is that—”

_Rose?_

And just like that he was there. The two of them, impossible yet inseparable, suspended in time. He was her, and she was him, and as their bodies moved together an unending torrent of images ricocheted between them, a ceaseless loop of awareness that made it impossible to tell where he ended and she began. Harder, faster, Rose’s nails raked down the Doctor’s back, her breathless cries music to his ears as he clung to her helplessly, unbridled words of love and adoration spilling unchecked from his lips.

One mind racing, three hearts beating as one, Rose clenched around his shaft and he bared himself completely, laying his secrets out for her to see. Hope. Joy. Fear. Guilt. Tears streamed down Rose’s cheeks as their link flared red-hot, their bond strengthening as she saw herself as he saw her. He was close, but she was closer, and as the golden fire of orgasm consumed them, the Doctor lapsed into Gallifreyan, whispering, begging, praying to Gods he didn’t believe in, that she would never leave him, that he could keep her, right here, right now, in this moment for the rest of time.

Forever.

 

 

“You’re not sorry, are you?”

How long they’d been lying there he didn’t know, but somehow the Doctor’s Time Sense had abandoned him, and he felt nothing—knew nothing, but the girl held tightly within his arms. “No,” he said, shifting his weight, the motion causing Rose’s legs to slip from around his waist. “Not sorry.”

“You’re quiet s’all.”

Reaching up he brushed his thumb across the apple of her cheek, and a series of street corners and two in the mornings unfolded before him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Tough,” she replied, stubborn as ever. “You’ve got me.”

“‘M gonna hold you to that.”

“Whatever you say, Doctor.”

“That too.” He grinned unrepentantly, unable to disguise the wonder in his words. “You let me into your head. After everything I... and then you just… You’re fantastic, you know that? Absolutely fantastic.”

“You said you loved me. At the end… you said—”

“I did. Yes.”

Rose’s lips broke into a watery smile as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

Fighting back tears she sniffed, regarding him seriously. “Did I ever thank you?”

“For what?”

“Coming back. Asking me again. I meant what I said with that Dalek, y’know. I wouldn’t’ve missed this for the world.”

Gently, the Doctor smoothed the hair back from her sweaty brow. “There’s no need to thank me,” he whispered. “If anything I should be thanking you. You’ve brought me back to life, Rose Tyler. Shown me there was still something worth living for—worth fighting for… and you’ve been saving me every day since.”

“‘S not such a bad life, you know.”

The Doctor smiled at the erstwhile memory. “Better with two?”

“Always.”

_Always._ He liked the sound of that. Despite his reservations, despite his teachings, despite everything he’d ever heard or read or witnessed with his own two eyes, the Doctor swore he would find a way. Somehow, some _when_ , forever would be theirs, and reaching up, he brushed the moisture from Rose’s cheeks. Nine hundred odd years—some _odder_ than others—all of time and space at his command, and here he was, humbled before a slip of a girl.

_No, not girl,_ he thought. _A woman._

His woman.

His redemption.

His future.

Thoroughly scandalised, the TARDIS chimed a reprimand inside his mind, and a manic laugh burst from the Doctor’s throat, as he leapt—somewhat unsteadily—to his feet. Reaching down he tugged up his jeans and tucked himself away before sending them spiralling off into the vortex.

“Where’re we going?” Rose asked, stifling a yawn as she slipped her arms around his neck.

The Doctor smirked, sweeping his sated—if slightly bemused—lover into his arms.  
“Bedroom.”

“But my mum—”

“Is _not_ invited.”

“No… the party, I should ring her, let her know I’ll—“

_“Rose,”_ the Doctor gave her a long-suffering look. “How many times do I have to remind you we’re in a _time machine?_ I can make love to you for a week and your mum’ll be none the wiser.”

Rose grinned. “A week?”

“Maybe two.”

Mingled laughter filled the air, as he waggled his eyebrows and sped down the corridor. “My, my, Mister wolf. What a big _ego_ you have.”

The Doctor chuckled, dropping a kiss into her hair. “Oh, Rose, love, you’ve not seen _anything_ yet...”


End file.
